Of Games and Goldenrod
by The Spacecase
Summary: It was all a game. He hadn't meant for it to go this far. And now, his only friend was going to die. Challenge for DreamClan.


_It was just a game. Why would they do this...?_

* * *

It was a bountiful Greenleaf for the Clans. Prey was plentiful, as were herbs. Which was why Bluepaw, an apprentice sent to gather herbs for the medicine cat, was out on this particular day.

The sun shone brightly as he padded through the forest, leaves gently crunching beneath his feet. He held a rabbit between his teeth; just because he was running an errand for Honeyleaf didn't mean he couldn't hunt as well, right?The cicadas chirped happily along with the birds, and the brook he was following babbled peacefully, all the forest sounds combining to create a hushed but beautiful summer chorus.

It was, in all respects, a perfect day. So, naturally, something would come along to disrupt that.

As he came across the clearing he was searching for, just outside of any clan territory, he found a lump of fur among the goldenrod flowers he had intended to gather.

"What in the name of StarClan...?" he murmered to himself, padding closer to get a better look. The creature was small, paws incredibly large in proportion to the rest of its body. Its fur was golden and incredibly fuzzy. He gasped as he realized what it is.

_Dog!_ His claws unsheathed instinctively. The dog gave a quiet whimper that made him sheathe them once more.

_It's just a pup, _he thought to himself. _But why is it lying so still? And where are its parents? _Circling the animal, he realized why it was hardly moving. There was a gash across its side. How did he miss it before? No matter!  
_It may be a dog, but it's still a child, _he thought to himself with certainty. _I'm not going to let it bleed out. _

His knowledge of medicine may be sub-par, but he knew that goldenrod was used for healing wounds. He set the rabbit he had caught down and proceeded to scamper around the clearing, gathering stray cobwebs for dressing the wound. He chewed the goldenrod into a poultice, as he had seen Honeyleaf do once or twice, and spread it out onto the wound, laying cobwebs on top of it. He stayed with the pup for a moment, making sure it was okay. Just as he was about to gather the remaining goldenrod and leave, the dog raised its head, stretching out its neck to lick Bluepaw's face.

His nose wrinkled in distaste. _Ew. Now I'll have to wash my face before I can return to camp!_ But he couldn't help but feel a bit of warmth for the pathetic creature.

He left the rabbit for the dog. It looked scarcely old enough to be weaned of its mother's milk, and he wasn't sure if it would eat the fresh-kill, but it was worth a shot.

Honeyleaf questioned why there wasn't as much goldenrod as usual, and Bluepaw idly remarked that rabbits must have gotten to a bit of the supply. She looked as if she didn't quite buy it, but didn't say anything. For that, Bluepaw was grateful.

He found himself visiting the pup every couple days or so, bringing a couple pieces of fresh-kill that surely wouldn't be missed and making sure its wounds were healing properly. As he cared for the pup, he would make quiet, one-sided conversation, telling the dog all about clan-life. He didn't think the dog could understand him, and yet it seemed to hang onto every word he said.

He noticed that no parents ever came for him.

"What happened to your mother?" he inquired one crisp leaf-fall night. The dog whimpered softly. He reckoned that the dog was starting to understand him a bit- or, at least, enough to get a general idea of what he was saying. From what Bluepaw could tell, wherever his mother was, she wasn't going to be coming back.

Just a few days later, the two were playing in the clearing when the pup batted at his ear in a lighthearted manner. He battered him with sheathed claws in return, and the two began tumbling along the clearing in a carefree manner, swiping at eachother. This playfighting became a habit. He would occasionally come home with small injuries at the end of the day- after all, the dog could not sheathe his claws- but it was small enough to go unnoticed by his clanmates.

Doing battle-practice with a dog had perks. Since it was a tougher opponent, he began to excel in fighting, earning the approval of his normally hard-to-please mentor, Blizzardstrike. Strangely, nobody mentioned his periodic disappearances, although he occasionally saw the leader giving him strange glances.

He heard the warriors discussing a dog one day, and he immediately tensed up. However, they decided that as long as the creature stayed outside of their territory, it was none of their concern, and it would be left alone.

However, his visits became problematic. As he became a warrior, Bluefeather, his freetime started to disappear, being replaced by hunting patrols and other duties. He made time to visit the dog, still, but it became less frequent.

Another problem, of course, was the dog's rapidly increasing size. As he grew, so did the amount of damage inflicted upon him. The others started to take notice of his injuries and began questioning where he went, but he pointedly ignored their inquiries.

It all came to an end one day in the middle of leaf-bare, the ground glimmering with frost and the skies brimming with unfallen snow. He headed down to the usual clearing, to meet up with his fighting companion. But today, the dog was far too rough with him, overtaking his fighting skills with ease (it seems that Bluefeather had not been the only one whose fighting skills had improved with age). The dog nipped and clawed at him, and by the end he was sporting a mighty gash in his leg, bleeding profusely.

The dog seemed to realize his pain, and tried to lick his wounds clean, but Bluefeather shied away. He knew the dog meant no harm. Large as he was, he was still a puppy, and still only saw this as play. But this was too far. He limped home, the others gathering around when he returned.

Blizzardstrike, the former mentor, was first to speak out amongst the masses of muttered "what happened?"s and "are you okay?"s.

"Bluefeather, what is this? Get to the medicine den immediately! We expect a full explanation when Honeyleaf is finished dressing your wounds." Bluefeather made no attempt to move. "Go!"

When he arrived, he was bombarded with endless questions as his wounds were taken care of, but he answered none of them, preferring to suffer in silence instead. Another cat entered the den. He turned as much as he could in his current position, expecting Blizzardstrike. But instead, Moonstar stood before him.

"We've noticed a change in you, Bluefeather." The leader began, with a booming voice that commanded authority.  
"You've been more withdrawn for moons, quieter. You've not been focusing on your duties. I've seen you coming back to camp with minor wounds, but I was willing to ignore them. No more. Whatever you have been doing, look where it's gotten you! You're battered and bloody, and you're drenched with the smell of dog!"

Bluefeather realized, with a start, that he had not thought to wash himself in the lake this time. (Could you blame him? After all, he was a bit preoccupied with not bleeding to death.) They could smell the dog on him. He waited for the leader to inevitably put two and two together. What if they killed the dog? He didn't know if he could deal with that; he was still young, yes, but he had practically raised that pup as if it were his own.

He stared defiantly at his leader, volunteering no information.

"Very well. You'll be confined to camp for a moon, both due to your wounds and your defiance." Bluefeather's eyes widened dramatically.

"What? No, you can't do that! What if something happens to him?" _Oh, fox-dung, why did I say that?_

Moonstar's icy blue eyes narrowed, shining with suspicion.

"Happens to who?"

Silence.

Slowly, he saw the leader realize just what was happening.

"That dog, just outside our territory. You've...you've been socializing with it, haven't you? For StarClan's sake, I'd have imagined one of my warriors would have more sense than that! You know we've been having trouble with those mongrels, and you're _raising_ one?" He left the medicine den, tail twitching angrily.

Honeyleaf looked on with startled eyes.

"It's true, isn't it?" She whispered. "It's the only thing that makes sense." After a moment, Bluefeather gave a single, defeated nod. She shook her head in disbelief.

From his mossy nest, he heard Moonstar giving orders from the Highstone.

"Spiderheart. Firetrail. Blizzardstrike! With me. We're going out on patrol to find that dog." He heard the murmuring of camp as they left, and he gave a soft cry of sadness. They were going to kill the poor creature. They...it was all over.

If only that stupid mutt hadn't been so rough while fighting, this wouldn't have happened! But, then...he was a dog. Maybe this was to be expected, and only Bluefeather's brotherly affection for the dog clouded his judgement. But the dog had been so kind to him in the past.

Honeyleaf had fallen asleep, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

He stared at the darkness for a long time, unable to sleep. But when he finally entered the realm of dreams, he found himself back in the clearing. A thousand stars were scattered across the sky- more than he had ever seen. In the center of the field was the dog, stars in his pelt. _In his pelt? No...surely that means..._

"Whatever you're thinking, I'm sure you're correct." He whirled around at the unexpected voice, seeing a cat he had never met before. She was black as midnight, fur lit only by the same stars he had seen on the dog.

"Is this StarClan?"

"Yes, it is."

"He's here. He's part of StarClan now?"

"Yes, he is."

"But...how?"  
"He could never understand every word you said, Bluefeather. But when you told him tales of clan-life during those lazy evenings, tales of StarClan, he understood enough. He's developed a belief in us, and has lead a life almost as righteous as any other young clan member. His only true crime was harming you, and even that was only in jest. He has joined our ranks, the first of his species to do so. You needn't worry, young one. He'll be safe here."

Bluefeather's eyes widened, unable to believe what he was hearing. This couldn't be true. There's no way he- they- could be that lucky. But, looking back at the dog, who sat faithfully in the goldenrod field where they had first met, he realized that this was real.

This was really happening.

He broke out into an incredibly loud purr.

"Thank you! Thank you. I...I hope he'll be happy here."

As the dream faded out, and he began to join the land of the living once more, he heard a quiet barking. He smiled and opened his eyes, ready to face the day.

He lead a normal life after that. Regained full use of his leg, although he felt a phantom pain there occasionally. Found a nice she-cat, had kits. But he never forgot his first real friend. And, every once in awhile, he thought he saw a silhouette of a great big mutt next to him, just in his peripheral vision.

He couldn't help but wonder what would have happened, if he had never met that helpless, bleeding pup in the goldenrod clearing. Or if the dog hadn't attacked so forcefully that day. It was still just a game. It was always a game, it had just gone too far.

But, in the end, he was glad he had chosen to play.

* * *

**Yes, this is terrible. No, the ending sentences don't make sense in the context. I knooow. ****Whether you loved or hated it, reviews are always appreciated. As mentioned in the summary, this is a challenge- for DreamClan, specifically- so, naturally, I didn't put much effort into it. Nonetheless, this is my longest story yet (which isn't saying much, considering most of them are, like, 100 words or less, being drabbles and poems.). Hope you enjoyed. Goodnight, Warriors fandom! **


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